


hashtag, no filter.

by orphan_account



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Angry!John, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Jealous!John, Jealousy, Pining, Possessive!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 18:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20550752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The people of Hope County take unbridled delight in peppering their social media accounts with as much of The Savior of Hope County as they can.Doesn’t help the fact that she’s an incorrigible flirt and has citizens swooning with a wink, melting with a smile, close to fainting with sultry, honeyed words.The thing about social media is... You really oughta privatize your account unless you want a sexually frustrated, jealously unhinged Baptist plotting your excruciatingly painful death for touching his deputy.





	hashtag, no filter.

Rook is completely oblivious regarding John’s feelings for her.

Even when her friends pull her aside to point it out, an intervention of sorts at The Spread Eagle, Rook denies it, says that the only obsessions he has are either carving sins into her skin, slicing that skin and peeling it from her bones or getting her to say ‘yes’ until it’s the only word left in her vocabulary. 

Exasperated by her dismissal and John’s persistence, Rook’s friends decide to see just how long John could tolerate his deputy being showered with affection by anyone -  everyone \- but him. 

•

The residents of Hope County create social media accounts for Rook.

They aren’t  her personal accounts - the few accounts Rook does have are anonymous and for ironic, comedic value only - they’re accounts  dedicated to her. 

Pictures, paragraphs, pages devoted to the savior of their county. 

Most of the locals have their personal accounts with various photos and moments with Rook, but then they decide to create whole-ass fucking accounts just dedicated to showering their deputy with love and praise and affection.

Joseph and Jacob don’t know about them — they aren’t tech-savvy, don’t have any social media accounts, use their phones for the sole purpose of getting into contact with each other.

But John? 

John is on every social media platform and he is  livid.  Because the scum that is the Resistance is loving Rook -  his deputy \- and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.

Least, that’s what they think. 

** _ Boomer. _ **

Pictures upon pictures of Boomer curled against her side, with his head on her chest or belly, finding solace in how Rook’s body rises and falls beneath his snout, meaning that his human is alive and well.

** _ Peaches. _ **

Pictures upon pictures of Peaches believing she is a house-cat, nonchalantly clawing her way into Rook’s lap when she’s sitting down to take a break or recognizance, the cougar’s weight leading her to tip backwards, which is precisely what Peaches wanted — so she could climb over her human and stretch the whole length of herself across Rook. She accepts her fate as Peaches’ bed rather well, especially when the feline nuzzles up under Rook’s chin, purring contentedly.

** _ Cheeseburger. _ **

Pictures upon pictures of Rook curled up against Cheeseburger’s side, face buried in his fur, arms wound loosely around his belly. Best. Pillow. Ever.

** _ Sharky. _ **

Hugs her from behind, his beard tickling the back of her neck, making Rook chuckle before he digs his fingers into her sides, eliciting boisterous laughter, tears in her eyes, breathless pleas for mercy — only for Rook to turn the tables, starting a war, which inevitably ends with them tussling in the dirt, grime and mud, cackling like psychos, having to go and clean themselves off at Boshaw Manor, where they’ll play video games and binge-watch the movies Sharky’s been dying for her to see until the crack of dawn, when they crash out in a heap of flesh and bones. 

•

Adores taking selfies with her, which Rook poses for happily, or capturing her in the midst of a gunfight or wildfire, bathing her in a beautiful, orange glow, or sneaking pics when she’s crashed out on his couch (draped over him, face tucked in the collar of his sweatshirt, to which he totally isn’t blushing at or grinning about in the top corner of the photo) when they’re back at his trailer.

•

_“Our adorable dep, out like a light.”_

_“Hotter than a disco inferno.”_

_“Dep just took out three Peggie’s with a single bullet. Never been harder in my life.” _

** _ Adelaide. _ **

Adelaide touching any and every inch of skin that’s exposed to her roaming fingers, kissing Rook’s cheeks, praising her for her skill(s), cracking suggestive one-liners over the radio that have Rook grinning cheekily and responding just as shrewdly.

_(The citizens of Hope County are all flushed from the base of their throats to the tips of their ears from their exchanges.)_

•

Selfies galore. Kissin’ her cheeks, huggin’ her so tight that Rook’s an alarming shade of red (but her smile is a mile-wide and full of laughter), doin’ yoga with Xander because nothing was more precious than her boytoy and her lethal deputy bonding over something so ridiculous and tantalizing. 

** _ Nick. _ **

Nick draping an arm around her shoulders in broad daylight, teaching her how to fly when Rook is in their neck of the woods, praising her by ruffling her hair and engulfing her in fierce hugs.

Kim peppering Rook’s face with kisses, lacing their fingers together when they’re walking together, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. 

The couple bracketing Rook between them whenever they can, in what they adoringly refer to as ‘a Rye sandwich’.

•

If you thought Sharky was bad with his hoard of pictures, Nick is worse. 

This camera mogul takes pictures of absolutely everything. 

Rook flying his plane, helping him assemble the crib, repainting the baby’s room to a brighter blue - Nick grumbled that royal blue‘d fine for either gender, but when Rook pointed out that a lighter blue would look like the sky when Carmina is soaring through the clouds, Nick grins so wide that his cheeks ache and he drags her to the nearest warehouse and loads-up on gallons of light blue paint (not without a grateful kiss on the cheek from Kim, which boasts a blush outta their darling dep, making both Rye’s grin and pepper Rook’s face with kisses). 

** _ Jerome. _ **

Doesn’t have any social media accounts, but the various folks that they’ve helped around Fall’s End - hell, all of Holland Valley - enjoy snapping pics of the two of them. 

Someone captured a particularly touching moment in the form of a video, less than a minute long - where Rook’s standing in the middle of the church, folded in Jerome’s arms in a tight hug, as he thanks her for all she’s done, saying that she’s the respite, blessing, savior of Hope County.

Rook’s flushed pink to the tips of her ears, hands scrabbling at the back of his shirt, her face buried in his shoulder, like she’s hiding tears.

_(This video evokes various feelings in John, from despair in her huddled and defeated form, to heartbreak in seeing her find solace in someone that wasn’t him, to envy that he wasn’t the person cradling his precious deputy in his arms, murmuring words of comfort in her ear, kissing every inch of her face until the frown disappeared and the smile shone again.) _

** _ Mary May. _ **

Didn’t used to be one for social media, only had a few accounts because her friends had made them for her, but posting about Rook?

One of her favorite pastimes. 

Especially the few pictures she’s captured after a night of  *ahem* physical activities, where Rook’s splayed across her bed, tangled in her sheets, face buried in her pillow...

How could Mary May  not take pictures of such a gorgeous image? 

** _ Jess. _ **

Jess taking Rook out for hunting trips, exploring the wilderness of the Whitetails, knowing the trails, foliage and animals like the back of their hands. 

Proud when they return with the largest hauls she’s brandished - bear, wolf, moose, deer, wolverine. Just about anything that’s indigenous to Hope County is piled up in the back of her truck, stopping only because there wasn’t enough space. 

Neither of them say much during the hunt itself, but when they’re heading back, they celebrate with a round of beers and a feast from the fruits of their labors. 

•

Absolutely off the radar. Doesn’t even have a cellphone, will use disposable ones that she’ll never hold onto for longer than a few days at a time. 

But there are a few photos of her and Rook in the woods together - obviously the work of Adelaide or Sharky - and she actually... 

Really likes them.

** _ Hurk. _ **

Hurk lifting Rook up on his shoulders for ‘a better angle’, giving her piggy-back rides basically whenever they aren’t confined to a car or in a firefight, blowing up mailboxes and warehouses and Peggie outposts with gusto, having deep, existential conversations from the moment the stars dot the sky to the second the roosters begin to crow. 

•

This boy takes to Twitter like a storm. 

Bragging about the hell that is unleashed when he and Rook take to the streets, explosions and violence and guns galore.

Lots of Snapchats about blowing shit sky-high, tweets about daring the Peggies to come after The Resistance when they have a fucking beast of a deputy on their side, Instagram stories of collages of their best works - explosives, pranks, absolute chaos. 

** _ Grace. _ **

Grace and Rook spending whole days hiking up to the highest mountains to see who could snipe the most Peggies by morning, cracking jokes and sharing war stories in the stretch of silence, basking in the chilly air and the expanse of stars above them. 

•

Grace isn’t much of a social media person - doesn’t have a single account - so most pictures of her and Rook are taken by other people, but she’s always pleasantly surprised at how good they look together.

Reminds her of the few times she’d take photos with her comrades in the army, the rare instances when she’d been at ease, when the battlefield was peaceful and she could simply  be. 

** _ Eli. _ **

Eli taking Rook out for fishing trips, where she inevitably ends-up sleeping in the boat, fishing rod brandished loosely in her hands, leaning back against him for support, sleeping fitfully for the first time in weeks. 

Hiking trips are a different story, but at the end of the night, in their shared tent, he finds himself cozying up to her side, which Rook approves of - hell, she  encourages it - because the chill of the Montana wilderness was fierce but he can’t feel the icy tendrils when he’s sleeping next to the embodiment of a human furnace. 

•

Isn’t a fan of social media, so Wheaty and a good number of the younger Whitetails snap photos of him and Rook when they aren’t looking.

Thinks that she pushes herself too hard, that she doesn’t take enough breaks or breathers, that she deserves at least one day of peace.

He’ll take her out fishing. Granted, it generally ends up with Eli fishing and Rook dozing against him, fishing rod balanced rather precariously in her lap, looking more peaceful than anyone can remember. 

Eli’s smile is small, genuine, happy. 

Moments like these that remind him there’s life outside of this war zone, that she’s bringing them closer to the day where Hope County will no longer live in fear of being brainwashed, tortured, manipulated, that they’re nearing the light at the end of this nightmarish tunnel every day that she’s here, fighting alongside them.

There’s a whole album dedicated to their fishing trips, even a few pictures where Rook’s either A.) actually (accidentally) caught a fish, B.) been jolted awake and accidentally capsized the boat, resulting in two soaked militia personnel, laughing so hard that tears mingle with the lake water drenching their skin or C.) knocked out cold and Eli, with their gear and haul slung over his shoulder, carries her off the boat in his arms and slowly walks back to the Wolf’s Den, smiling softly all the while.

** _ John. _ **

Rook becomes “The Heartthrob of Hope County” - alongside the savior, of course - without meaning to because she’s an incorrigible flirt. 

Flirting is second-nature, something like a reflex, because it’s easier and safer than having deep, heart-to-hearts with the people she cares about.

She isn’t good with intimacy - that’s the sort of thing that’ll leave her tongue-tied - but she’s an expert at honeyed words.

•

_“Nick Rye, the pilot guy! Tell me, what does a humble deputy have to do to be the meat between a delicious Rye sandwich?” _

•

_“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV, with a nickname like Sharky, I’d love to be devoured by you.” _

•

_“Grace, you are the sharpest shooter I’ve seen in this lifetime, but damn - do I have my sights fixed on you.” _

•

_“There any way I can squeeze in a session between you and Xander, Addie? I bet you two could put me in all sorts of delicious positions.”_

•

_“That bow must belong to Cupid, because you’ve stolen my heart, Jess.” _

•

_“Everyday feels like The Fourth of July with what you do to me, Hurk.” _

•

_“Sweetheart, they call me ‘rookie’ in the streets, but you’ll be screaming ‘master’ in the sheets.” _

•

_“I was asked down here to arrest someone for being too gorgeous without a permit. Wasn’t given a name, so I was worried I’d have to spend the whole night looking for them. Glad you made this easy for me, gorgeous.”_

•

_“I’ve got a gun holstered to my hip and a badge pinned to my chest, but what I wouldn’t give to have you in my cuffs...”_

•

John is outraged, hearing the casual, laidback, suggestive back-and-forth with her friends over her frequency, breaks over a dozen radios in  wrathful, envious meltdowns .

Namely, because he’s never been on the receiving end of so much as a single one of her flirtatious quips.

And it angers him beyond the point of rationality, but what did her little entourage - the scourge of this county, the heathens that were oh-so-happy to corrupt her - have that he didn’t?

•

The folks of Hope County are fed-up with John’s attraction to her and her dismissal of it - _“H_ _e doesn’t like me, he couldn’t like me, I’ve been blowing up his silos, killing his people, graffiti’ing ‘YEET’ all over his signs—“_ \- so everyone decides to make social media fan accounts for her and just gush over her. 

Which proceeds to make John livid beyond the point of comprehension.

•

Joseph and Jacob have no idea what’s going on, because the only technology they use is the radio to communicate with each other, the occasional phone call if their conversations are a little more private.

But John? 

He’s on every social media account there is, sees every picture, every tag, every video. 

He will break down doors, string-up bodies, carve up each and every sin imaginable into the skin of the heathens that are making pages, stories, albums dedicated to  his deputy.

•

Can’t stand seeing Rook happy with anyone that isn’t him.

A plethora of pictures are uploaded to all of her fan accounts one night - all of Rook, surrounded by her damned companions, celebrating a night out at The Spread Eagle, with half of them teetering between the fine line of tipsy and shitfaced.

Which John couldn’t care less about, but the other half? 

_They’re all over her. _

With hands touching everywhere, mouths roaming across exposed skin, eyes gleaming with unabashed hunger and want and  lust. 

John’s blood is  boiling,  has him climbing into his car and breaking at least nine different traffic laws in his haste to break-up their attempt at defiling  _his_ deputy.

By the time he gets there, blood roaring in his ears, an enraged howl boiling in his throat, a revolver in his jacket pocket to eliminate these threats — he finds Rook outside, a cigarette balanced neatly between her lips.

John stops dead in his tracks at the sight.

Because she looks celestial, ethereal,  godly.

Moonlight spills across her face, the neon lights from the bar’s boisterous sign casting shadows around her, the smoke swirling around her making John question if she’s real or just a beautiful figment of his imagination.

But Rook feels eyes upon her, pools of amber shifting from the clear night sky to him.

An eyebrow cocks in surprise.

“... Pretty Boy? What’re you doing here? You do realize that if anyone catches wind of that handsome face, you’re catching a bullet right between the—“

That’s about as far as she gets before John is closing the distance between them in record time, snatching her by the collar of that damned denim jacket, the cigarette falling from her lips in surprise, crushing their mouths together.

She tastes like nicotine, alcohol and everything he’s ever wanted. 

When they part - oxygen was a fickle thing - John wastes no time in giving her the ultimatum of ultimatums.

She thinks it’s because he’s upset that she’s upstaged him with her little fan-base, but when she opens her mouth to say as much, turns out that he couldn’t care less. 

Where are his flirty remarks? 

Why are they being given to anyone -  everyone  \- but him? 

Why is he met with radio silence, when she’s practically moaning into the radio for everyone else? 

•

Her cleansing, confession and atonement are long, drawn-out, blurring the lines between pain and pleasure until her voice is hoarse (for more than one reason), until he’s ingrained it in her skull that her risqué remarks are for  him and  him alone, until everyone in the whole county knows that the notorious “Heartthrob of Hope County” belongs to none other than their Baptist.

•

John has  _albums_ of photos of Rook.

(His Instagram is basically just an homage dedicated to her.)

One for work - cleaning her guns, working on weapon modifications, fixing-up broken vehicles, including cars and planes.

One for pleasure - kissing the breath out of her, buying her dozens of gifts so that she’ll never want for anything, the precious blush that steals the apples of her cheeks when she urges him to return them - _“_ _John, these cost more than a house, for the love of Christ, you’re already more than I deserve, quit piling on more guilt—“_ \- cuddling together on the sofa.

One for domesticity - cooking breakfast and dinner, watching television, sleeping.

John never could have imagined how much he’d come to treasure photographs.

He’s planning their wedding on Pinterest.

Rook is his lock screen and his wallpaper - on his phone, tablet and laptop. 

His Twitter is brimming with cheesy quotes about love, passion and fate.

He‘s made it his duty to have more pictures with Rook than anyone else - everyone else - combined. 

Albums upon albums, from the domestic things like cooking and napping, to the more... intimate situations.

And he spares no expense, since Jake and Joe aren’t tech-savvy, gets up-close and personal.

But, inevitably, his brothers find out, because The Resistance aren’t the only folks with social media and Eden’s Gate are just as flustered by their Baptist’s posts as everyone else. 

Word travels fast in a county that’s sequestered/quarantined from the rest of the world. 

Jacob is a combination of mildly disgusted at seeing his brother’s junk, let alone him doing the do, and (he’d never admit it) a tad bit  jealous that his baby brother got to have their deputy first. 

Joseph gives the lecture of all lectures, personally and publicly, broadcasting sermons that revolve around topics such as,  “The Lord is always watching,” and  “Once you upload something, it can never be truly erased.”

On the outside, John bows his head, embarrassed and ashamed of his behavior.

“Of course, Joseph... I will confess and atone immediately.” 

But once they’re back at his ranch...

He wrangles her down to the bed, kissing every square inch of delicious deputy before him, biting bruises in the vulnerable flesh of her chest, navel, thighs - where only they can see them, where only she can feel them, where only he can taste them.

“Did you hear that, darling? They’ll  _n e v e r_ be truly erased.“

•

Once she’s his, each and every single one of his social media accounts are updated daily. 

To the point where people start believing in Joseph’s angry (and hilarious) philosophical rants of the ‘Cloud’.

“He might have a point... I didn’t realize how much I treasured privacy... Namely, other people keeping to themselves... That’s the third time I’ve seen John’s junk... Today...”

Nick curses up a storm, threatens to bleach his eyeballs to get the image of John’s d i c k out of his head before what few brain cells he has left commit suicide.

Mary May slides $50 to Adelaide under her beer.

Eli hands Jerome $100 over a tray of burgers and fries. 

Jess gags so violently that her lunch of pizza, nachos and Heineken threatens to come back up for Round Two.

Grace deletes every single social media account her friends had made for her, swearing off the Internet for the rest of humanity. 

Hurk and Sharky knock back an excessive amount of intestinally degrading, brain melting moonshine to forget anything and everything that resembles a phallic object.

But...

One morning, Rook posts a picture to her account - John pestered her for w e e k s to make an actual, personal, un-ironic account, similar to how a child yanks at their parents’ clothing to buy them candy or toys or junk food - and the picture leaves the whole of Hope County speechless. 

It’s a simple photo - there aren’t any filters or effects, doesn’t need any with the brilliant sunlight spilling into the frame.

John‘s fast asleep, the perfectly gelled hair that everyone’s accustomed to instead mussed and disheveled, dark bangs framing his face.

He’s tangled in Rook - which isn’t anything new - but this is the first time that he isn’t the one who’s wide awake and taking the photo.

No, that designation is Rook’s, who’d taken the photo at a modest angle, doesn’t delve lower than their collarbones, but John’s sinewy, tattooed arms hint at the bottom corners, fastened around her like a koala bear.

That being said - there isn’t a single person in Hope County, his brothers included, that have seen John so...

Satisfied. 

Relaxed.

Happy. 

Rook‘s free hand is tangled loosely in his hair, having tenderly threaded through the messy locks, right before she laid a delicate, loving kiss to his temple and snapped the picture. 

Though her eyes are closed, she’s clearly conscious, if the small smile curving the side of her mouth and the fact that she’d taken the photo are any indication. 

This is the one and only photo that Rook’s taken for her account - John’s taken to posting for her, is obvious to anyone and everyone with his grandiose vernacular and terrifying abuse of emojis in the description.

There’s a single caption beneath the photo, only five words - but it’s enough to steal the air out of hundreds of lungs, crack smiles across the faces of vicious, hardened criminals and vigilantes alike, countless Hope County citizens who couldn’t stand The Baptist mere weeks ago scrubbing furiously at their face for the sappy tears glossing over their eyes. 

_Thank you for my sunshine. _


End file.
